The Holiday
by PhoenixFeather17
Summary: Hermione Granger has finally reached her - rather anguished - limit. She decides to take a holiday to find not only herself, but maybe a little something... magical. Based on the movie "The Holiday".
1. Chapter 1

Hermione Granger, often lauded as the brightest of the age, stood staring at her reflection wondering how she could've been so _stupid_!

She sighed in despair as she splashed some water on her pale face, patting at hair that looked as distraught as she felt. Hermione looked at herself in the spotty mirror again, straightened her shoulders and prepared to give herself an enthusiastic pep talk.

"Alright, Granger. You are better than this. You are the editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet, now the most factual and best written newspaper in the wizarding world. You WILL stop crying; you WILL go back out to the office party. You WILL look him in his face and NOT embarrass yourself!"

Hermione stood tall, all five feet, two inches, and tried to give herself a daring look. Instead her bottom lip wobbled and her hazel eyes filled with fat tears.

"Oh, dash it all!"

The bathroom door was wrenched open, tinny Christmas music jangling out of the wireless, and Ginny Weasley marched in and up to Hermione.

"Hermione, what on earth are you doing in here? Are you crying?" Ginny looked worriedly at her friend, pressing a goblet of wine into her hand. "I hope this isn't about that prick in Sports, because if it is, you really need to get a life, my girl. Come along, 'Mione."

Hermione was bustled out of the bathroom into the annual staff Christmas party, clutching her wine like a life line. She gulped a fortifying mouthful, while she allowed Ginny to frog march her over to the little table designated as the bar.

"Ginny, you really need to remember that I'm rather pathetic; and that prick you're referring to is your brother."

"He's still a prick, brother or not. I'd know, wouldn't I?" Ginny winked back at her, her waist length flamed coloured hair falling like rain behind her. She stepped over to the make-shift bar, and poured out a generous helping of vodka into her cup.

Hermione shrugged and took another sip of wine. She glanced around at her staff and smiled a little at the fact that everyone was clearly enjoying themselves.

After the war, Hermione had gone back to Hogwarts to finish her seventh year, while her two best friends, Harry Potter and – _sob_ – Ronald Weasley, had made plans to go into Auror training. That heat-of-the-moment kiss when she and Ron had gone down into the Chamber of Secrets had been defining for Hermione. She had known that she had finally gotten her man; the love of her life.

Wait, Hermione thought with another lip wobble; the _unrequited_ love her life. Hermione took another gulp of wine, and her eyes widened as she saw the "prick from Sports", Ronald B. Weasley, coming straight towards her. She looked frantically around for Ginny, but she had gone off to flirt with Dean Thomas. She sighed, thinking that it was times like this that she missed Harry the most.

Just a few weeks into Auror training, Harry had said that he couldn't deal with the media, the attention, the _pressure._ He had sold Grimmauld Place, making a hefty sum to add to both his Potter and Black inheritances, and left a note for all his friends saying that he was heading to live his life somewhere that nobody would bother him. The Weasleys had been livid for a time, but Hermione had understood. She always understood her best friend, the enigma that was Harry Potter.

His constant battle with media attention was one of the reasons that she had turned her ambitious eyes on the steaming pile of dragon shit that had been the Daily Prophet. Through determination, hard work and a little pressure from her image as the "Golden Girl of the Golden Trio", the previous editor handed her the reigns.

She had turned the Prophet around, making the paper much more reputable. When Ron had dropped out of Auror training, and he had begged Hermione for a job, she had caved giving him the flagging Sports section. To their mutual surprise, he was rather good at keeping the Sports section entertaining while sneaking in the boring Quidditch trivia that he was so fond of.

Ron drew closer to Hermione, his red hair darkening a bit over the eight years since she had graduated from Hogwarts. Where he was all arms and legs before, he had packed on muscle to his tall frame, and she couldn't help that her heart beat a little faster as he smiled down at her.

"Hey, 'Mione," Ron said smoothly, giving his boyish, lopsided grin. "Great party, yeah?"

"Hey, uh, Ron. Yeah, it's grand."

 _It's grand? God, shoot me._

She smiled up nervously, pushing her wayward hair behind an ear. "'Mi, I have something for your Christmas," Ron said, peering down at her with his light blue eyes.

"Do you?" Hermione was stunned. Blushing, she reached into the pocket of her bulky trousers, taking out a little box before tapping it with her wand. "So do I; last time we exchanged presents in March. This is good!" She peeked up at him; however, at the shifty way his eyes looked around the room, she bit back a disappointed sigh.

"Wow, thanks Hermione. I don't actually have yours on me right now; or wrapped…" Ron said, tearing into the enlarged box. "Hermione. You stinker! Where did you find this?" Ron looked at the first edition _Canon Call: Chudley Canons Through the Ages_ and held it up reverently.

"In that little shop we found in Peterborough; do you remember?" Hermione asked shyly, but felt her spirits plummet at who slid her smooth arms around Ron.

She and Ron had been in a tumultuous relationship when she had gone into the Copy Room to find him buried deep in the Prophet's gossip columnist, Lavender Browne. While she could not stop her love for Ron, Hermione had been hurt beyond words that she had caught him in such a manner. With Lavender Bloody Bubble Boobs Browne.

"Have you told Hermione our great news, Ronnie?" Lavender asked, her daringly low sweater exposing an eyeful. "She could make an announcement for the Prophet so that the Society section can have first crack, puddums!"

 _Puddums? Merlin and Morgana…_

"Tell me what?" Hermione asked, dread creeping up in the pit of her stomach to claw at her throat. She gave a puzzled smile before a glint caught her eye…

"We're engaged!" Lavender stuck her left hand in front of Hermione's widened eyes, and Hermione faintly heard Ginny utter a quick, "Fuck."

Hermione heard herself mumble an excuse and escaped to her office with her fingers clutching at her glass of wine. She faintly heard Ron calling her name, but she ignored him and locked the door behind her.

 _Bloody MARRIED! Bloody, buggering hell!_

She frantically searched for parchment and her rather battered quill; taking one last huge gulp of wine, she scribbled out a message to the only person who has ever come to her rescue. Hoping that he didn't magically block owls from finding him, she tied her note to her owl Persephone's leg with a shaking hand.

Hermione opened the window for Persephone to wing away then put up a silencing charm around her office, put her head on her desk and proceeded to wail.

 _ **MARRIED?!**_

A/N: My first story.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione clutched at the – now rather ragged – bit of parchment that she had received just a few short days after she was told The News.

Yes; to emphasize this most dire of circumstances, she had to capitalize it in her head.

'It' being the fact that the man she had been pining after for the entirety of her adult life was getting married.

 _Bloody MARRIED!_

She sniffled again, shaking her head at her sad state of affairs. Intellectually, she knew that she was wasting what should have been the best years of her life on a man that could not, and _would not_ love her.

Mr. I'm Not Ready For That Huge Commitment.

Mr. I Just Can't Imagine Being Tied Down.

Hermione blew her nose, and shoved her little scrap of salvation into her coat pocket. After she had sent off her plea for help with her owl Persephone, she had left the party and gone home to her cozy little cottage. Trudging into her little living room, Hermione had proceeded to peel her copious layers of clothing off, stoking the fire in the fireplace as she went. Her loyal familiar came to wind his heavy body around his legs, and Hermione had snuggled into her recliner and cuddled the half-kneazle for comfort.

"Oh, Crooks. You're the only male that I can depend on. He's getting married to that tart, Browne!" Hermione had sobbed wildly, before Crookshanks had given her what could only be a look of disgust. He butted his squashed face to her chin and swiped at her cheek. She heaved a breath and gave herself a slight shake.

"I know, Crooks; I've got to pull myself together. I do not need him. I shall repeat until I begin to believe it." With one last stroke, Hermione allowed her familiar to settle in front of the warm fire. She got up, gathering her things and putting them away in the tiny hall closet before she made her way up to her room. She pulled out her suitcase from under her bed, and began to pack.

 _Hermione my girl, you need a break._

Hermione had made up her mind that she could not stand to stay in England over the Christmas holiday. With Ron's new engagement, she knew that his mother would not be able to resist throwing a Weasley family dinner party in celebration. Given that she had stayed close with the Weasleys over the years, she knew Molly would have invited her, and she could not in good conscious decline the direct invitation without a very good reason. She also knew that it was beyond her to sit across from Ron and Lavender, with that bitch's engagement ring glinting in her eyes. _Better to skip the country,_ Hermione thought wryly, throwing some bathing suits in the case.

Whether or not she had gotten a response to her letter, she was going to catch the next international portkey out of London, and try to save her heart from further damage. Much to her relief, she had gotten a reply, which lead to where Hermione was currently standing.

With straightened shoulders, her shrunken case in her pocket, Hermione waded into the busy portkey terminal at the Ministry. She looked up as a bored voice called out that her international portkey was due to leave in five minutes, and went to stand by the length of rope that would whisk her away from her misery. She looked around at the other passengers, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear shyly when she saw a wizard stride up and stand next to her. She smiled and nodded in greeting, blushing a bit when the good looking man grinned brightly at her and winked. She was about to say something in greeting when a slender hand with a wedding band slid around the man's arm.

"Wrong portkey, darling. We're over there," the woman said, giving Hermione a beady-eyed glare and a sniff. The man smiled again, and ambled off with his wife, leaving Hermione to roll her eyes and sigh despondently.

"Figures."

"Oh, oh! Here we are, Ingrid! Excuse me, love," two old witches bustled up to the portkey, crowding around Hermione and sandwiching her in between their not inconsiderable hips and frilly robes.

"Almost didn't make, Hetty! I told you we shouldn't have stopped for that cake," the other woman huffed out, straightening her large handbag and talking around Hermione, who was helplessly curling a finger around the now glowing rope.

"Sod off, Ingrid, you weren't complaining when you were munching away on it," was snorted back in reply, the unrepentant Hetty hooking her plump hand on the rope. "Buck up there, my dear, you're looking a bit flighty." Hermione smiled feebly in response, hunching her shoulders and trying to ignore the bickering between Ingrid and Hetty. She closed her eyes in relief when she felt the sensation of a hook jerking her forward her navel, and tightened her other hand around the letter she had buried in her dingy coat pocket.

 _Hermione,_

 _I'm not sure what the matter is, but you're more than welcome to come visit me. I'm in the Caribbean, so pack warm._

 _I'll meet you at the portkey station in a couple days, ok?_

 _Cheers,_

 _Harry_

~o~o~

Hermione put her shrunken winter things in her jeans pocket, already starting to fan herself from the heat. She watched the various passengers scuttle off, seeing persons there to collect them from the cramped portkey station and looked around. She hadn't seen Harry Potter in nearly ten years, and Hermione was unsure what he might have looked like now. She self-consciously pushed her natty hair behind her ear again, thinking that Harry would have no problem in recognizing her. She still wore loose, comfortable trousers and t-shirts, and she very rarely wore her now nearly waist-length curls in anything but untidy buns. Ginny despaired of her ever showing anything even sniffing of waist definition, let alone legs.

Hermione walked out of the little station, looking around and admiring the colourful island life. _Where am I?_

She looked around for some sort of sign and saw, "Welcome to Antigua!".

Hermione's eyes widened, and a grin started to spread across her face. _Welcome to Antigua, indeed._

"'Mi! 'Mione!"

Hermione turned quickly having heard her name, and found her eyes widening even further as she took in the figure hustling towards her through the crowd. She almost looked behind her to see if maybe there was someone else named Hermione that the man was signaling to, but then he took off his dark shades and the bright, emerald green eyes of the Man Who Conquered punched her in the gut.

 _Bloody fucking hell… Talk about tall, dark and handsomely out of your league._

Hermione tilted her head back as Harry Potter stopped right in front of her, grinning happily and reaching a hand out towards her. "Welcome to your holiday, 'Mi."

Hermione took his hand in hers, and smiled weakly up at Harry before he pulled her closer and apparated them away.

A/N: And we're in Antigua! Talk about a holiday!


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione let go of Harry's hand, stumbling a bit from the apparition. She looked around her, taking in the bright Caribbean sun filtering in through the large floor to ceiling windows. She got the impression of splashes of bright colour and lots of airy space. Hermione looked back to see Harry making his way to the open kitchen and leaning over slightly to take two bottles of cold water out of the fridge. She couldn't really help herself as she leaned her head along with him to keep the… er – view.

 _Hubba hubba._

"So, 'Mione, it's great having you here," Harry said, tossing one of the bottles to Hermione, which she fumblingly caught. "This is the guest house on the property here, so you'll have the whole place to yourself."

 _All to myself… All alone…_

"That's great," Hermione said, smiling weakly and taking a sip of the ice cold water. "I really appreciate you doing this, Harry. I just needed to get away from England for a while."

"That's quite alright, 'Mi. Trust me, I know the feeling," Harry laughed. They moved into the spacious living room, and Hermione let out a small moan as she sank into the large soft sofa. She giggled, a slight blush staining her cheeks and took another sip of water to give herself something to do. Harry glanced at his watch and leaned against the arm of the sofa Hermione was currently half-buried in and smiled softly down at her.

"It's really great having you here, Hermione. We can catch up tomorrow for lunch, because I'm sure the time difference is going to catch up with you soon; England's about four or five hours ahead of us here in Antigua. Feel free to do any magic here, as I don't have any neighbours close by, and I've warded the whole property. I'm going to be heading back up to the main house, but there's a phone over there hooked up between the houses. Just dial 1 and I'll pop right over if you need anything.

"You made it seem like you needed your space, so I really don't want to be underfoot. Must be off though, as I've another appointment. Get some rest, 'Mi. You look like you need it." Harry ran a tanned hand over her hair and left through the wide French doors leading out to the deck. He turned back and waved a hand in farewell and took off up the sloping lawn to the main house.

Hermione sighed softly to herself and snuggled deeper into the couch. She closed her eyes and thought about all the changes time had wrought on Harry. He had certainly grown; she huffed softly thinking of the amount of neck craning she would have to do. _He must be_ at least _6'0"._

Harry had also developed a healthy tan, indicating that he obviously spent a lot of time outside. _And active_ , Hermione thought thinking of the sleek, but well defined, muscles. He was definitely hot, with his just-had-a-shag hair and gorgeous eyes.

 _You came here to get away from a man, Granger, not drool over a new one._ Hermione chuckled and scrambled up and out of the piece of furniture that was quickly getting a special place in her heart. She saw the high end Muggle appliances, like the humongous television and rows and rows of DVDs. She quickly went into the kitchen and almost purred looking at the wide counters and brilliant views. She picked up pace to look for the bathroom, doing a double take as she passed a window that she could see a pool out of and let out a delighted laugh.

Hustling now, she went down a hall and found what could only be the master bath, doing a little hopping dance when she saw the huge jetted tub and sinful rain-head shower. She saw a door leading out and went through, and could not help but increase her speed and taking a flying leap into the king size bed. Hermione screamed into the pillow and rolled unto her back, kicking her feet up into the air, feeling a bit dazed with her gorgeous surroundings. She giggled helplessly, rolling around on the bed until she felt something heating up on the side of her thigh. She sat up, completely forgetting that she had walked with her Prophet Galleon, similar to the galleons she had charmed so long ago when Harry was teaching the DA. Hermione had walked with it against Ginny's better judgment, and she was now wishing that she had listened to the fiery redhead.

Hermione looked down at the coin seeing the words: It's RW. Where R U? Miss you.

Hermione let out a sob. She dug out her wand and conjured her misty patronus; it had lost its otter form long ago, and she presumed that it was because of her constant internal anguish over her love for Ron. While it would be useless against a dementor, she had discovered that it was still effective in sending messages.

"We both know that I need to fall out of love with you, Ron. It would be great if you would let me try."

She let the patronus go with a sigh, all of the excitement of her new surroundings completely draining away. She crawled under the covers, letting the sea breeze from the open window swirl around the room and she closed her eyes, salty tears falling silently.

~o~o~

Hermione opened her eyes a few hours later, staring up at the high roof, wondering why she felt so exhausted. She sat up, slid out of the bed and stood in front of the large mirror across the room. Hermione stared at herself, puffy eyes taking in her rumpled appearance. She slid her t-shirt up and off and pulled her jeans off, leaving the clothing in a pile behind her. Utilitarian underwear was scrutinized, hair let out from the confining band and shaken out to curl down towards her waist. Hermione tilted her head, staring at her reflection analytically.

 _Good hair, but needs some work…_

… _Small waist and nicely rounded hips, but stomach was a little rounded…_

 _Legs were alright, but my ass is huge…_

Hermione looked at herself, thinking that physically, she wasn't a hound by far.

 _Emotionally though…_

She shook her head, wondering again when she had become such a putz. She wondered into the bathroom and decided to take a long shower. She saw a package on the kitchen island, and went to investigate, wrestling her hair back up into a bun. She saw a plate of food under a stasis charm, a note and a package.

 _Hey 'Mione,_

 _I came to see if you wanted a bite to eat but you were asleep, so I left this for you. I also found this package outside on the verandah; the paranoid side of me already checked it for anything malicious (magical or otherwise) and it came up clean._

 _I'll come by in the morning and show you around and we'll get caught up._

 _If you want to of course; it is your holiday._

 _H._

Hermione smiled softly, removing the stasis and digging into an obviously local dish that tasted fantastic. She took up the package, shaking it to see what it might be and then tore the brown paper off. She saw some pages inside and took up the short note, frowning when she recognized the handwriting.

 _Hey Hermione,_

 _You know that I've been working on my Quidditch facts book for the longest time now, and I think I'm ready to go. Ginny told me that you were on holiday, but I know that I can count on you to give it a look and polish it up a little._

 _You're the only who understands me._

 _Yours,_

 _Ron_

Hermione closed her eyes, resting the package back on the countertop. She got up resolutely, polishing off her food and making a mental note to ask Harry what it was. She rooted around in the cupboards until she found a wine glass and popped the cork on the bottle of red she had spied earlier, taking the lot into the bathroom.

She poured a big glass, ran a bubble bath and made the decision to ignore any and everything coming out of London and enjoy her holiday.

A/N: Here we are. Will Hermione stick with her no-London rule? Thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione strolled out unto the verandah, slinging her towel over her shoulder and tilting her head back so that the bright sun could warm her face. It had been a few days since she had had her resolution-making bubble bath, and she felt better than she had in a long time.

To consciously make the effort to put Ron behind her, to start focusing on loving herself instead of loving someone who didn't appreciate her was a beautiful thing and she relished it. She smiled to herself as she dumped her towel on the lounge chair next to the pool, having made sure to carefully slather herself in suntan lotion before coming outside. She was developing quite a tan, and the laps that she swam everyday made her eat like a horse. The local dishes that Harry had been introducing her to were _delicious_ ; ducana and saltfish, pepperpot, fungee and chop-up, souse. Hermione chuckled, kicking her sandals off, thinking of the fact that she had to swim off all the food she'd been eating, and swimming was making her want to eat more. She pulled her shirt off and dived into the large pool, swimming lazily to the opposite end and allowing her mind to drift to her host.

Harry Potter, the Man-Who-Conquered, Saviour of the Wizarding World and all around Nice Guy. He had been nothing but kind to her, giving her space but seeming to sense when she wanted company. He had shown her the property, a sprawling estate located in the depths of the hilly area called Fig Tree Drive. While she had not been up into the main house as yet, the guest house was so big she felt like she was staying at a secluded villa. Hermione touched the wall of the pool and turned, smoothly going into another lap and taking in the foliage and "plenty bush", as Harry laughingly said in a perfect Antiguan accent. She had laughed herself silly and he had taken her out for a drive in his Jeep, showing her all the tourist traps and shopping areas – both magical and Muggle – restaurants and the numerous beaches.

 _I can definitely get used to this._

She continued swimming lazy laps, until she saw Harry sitting on one of the lounge chairs with two cold beers and a smile. She swam towards him, treading water and using her limited wandless skills to float the beer towards her. Hermione winked when Harry laughed at her and she smiled when he got up, toed off his shoes and pulled his shirt off before sliding into the pool with her. They floated in silence, enjoying their beers and warm sunlight until Hermione paddled over to him.

"So Harry, I've been here for a couple days now and we haven't really gotten an opportunity to catch up," Hermione quirked a brow at him. "Spill; what have you been up to all these years?"

Harry chuckled and rested against one of the pool's steps and took another drink. "Well, when I got here, I had originally been renting this property. I started to think about what sort of skills, or lack thereof, I might have had. I know I didn't want to just live off of my inheritance but I certainly wasn't in any frame of mind to hold a nine to five, if you know what I mean," he closed his eyes, mind going back to those first few months. "I started fiddling with an old table that was broken, and I enjoyed the feeling that I got from working with my hands and putting something back together again instead of using them to fight wars. One thing led to another and over the years, I've made furniture and little specialty items for a lot of people; both here in Antigua and in other islands as well. I made the dining table and chairs in the guest house, actually."

Hermione smiled proudly, thinking back to the wonderful furniture that she had seen in the house and could feel nothing but happiness for her friend who not only built things with his hands, but had built a life as well.. "That's fabulous, Harry, really. I reckon you could build me something resembling a clue," Hermione chuckled self-deprecatingly, pulling herself out of the pool and laying down on the lounge chair so that the bright sun could dry her off. Harry looked at her, clambering out of the pool himself and resting on the chair next to her, shaking his hair out his eyes and taking his sunglasses off so that he could look at her with his piercing green eyes.

"Talk to me, 'Mi. What are you doing here, really? I know you said you needed a break but there seems to be something more going on." Harry looked at her worriedly, touching her hand with his.

 _Saint Harry, to the rescue._

"Well, I found myself in quite a predicament. You know how I can get when I'm focused on something; one track mind and all that," Hermione laughed wryly, sitting up and finishing off her drink. "I was… am… quite in love with a man who seems to be incapable of loving me back. He's caring and makes me laugh. He's selfish and makes me cry. He's outrageous and wonderful and annoying and funny and a Grade A wanker; but I can't seem to help how I feel."

Harry looked at her, with a sorrowful look on his face. He scooted his chair closer to hers so that his knees were touching hers and he said, "This guy obviously wouldn't know love if it slapped him in his face."

Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes and dashed them away angrily, laughing a bit bitterly as she said, "Obviously he can, as he's set to be married. Bought her an engagement ring and everything. I suppose his emotional range has bumped up to a tablespoon now."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "Ron? Oh, Hermione…" He trailed off, not knowing what to say, remembering the all-encompassing devotion she had had for him. "So that's what you're doing here? You're trying to get over him?"

"Yes, trying being the operative word. That package that you left for me was from him; he's working on a Quidditch book and he sent me his pages to look at. He 'needs' me, apparently." Hermione sighed, wishing she had a drink.

"Which is great for Ron, but sucks for you." Harry shook his head, marveling at the idiocy of Ronald Weasley. "Well, Granger," he got up, holding his hand out to Hermione, who took it with a blush and wide eyes. "We are going to work on getting you past this. It's Christmas Eve, and I'm going to whip us up some pasta, open a bottle of champagne and we're going to celebrate being alive. You with me?"

Harry smiled at her, and at that moment Hermione would have done anything that he asked of her.

 _Good thing for me Harry isn't the lecherous type… Damn those green eyes of his._

They made their way to the guest house, hand in hand, both feeling a slight shift in their friendship. Harry tightened his hand around hers and Hermione got the distinct impression that she should maybe start wearing some bikinis to the pool instead of her serviceable one piece.

 _Just in case._

A/N: Poor Hermione; hopefully Harry isn't too rusty at saving the day. Also, can you tell that I have family in Antigua? Love me some souse.


End file.
